


Playing with Fire (RQ request based smut)

by Wysteriae



Category: Red Queen Series - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Non-Canon Relationship, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2020-05-13 07:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19246264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wysteriae/pseuds/Wysteriae
Summary: She finds comfort in an open flame, in the violent, serpentine arc of blue, orange, and red. Each twisting thread of fire calls to her, just like the man who wields it.





	1. Submissions:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick and brief explanation to how I will accept requests and how to format your requests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed the severe lack of smut in the Red Queen fandom around the web so I decided that I just had to do it myself (because let's be honest, a lot of these characters are shippable and I'm sure a lot of you are starving for some quality content). I'm here to deliver.

First and foremost, I will be writing based on requests I get in the comment section.

As this is a request based smut collection, which will range from scenario/setting to couple/pairing. Each chapter will include smut, so if you aren't comfortable with mature or explicit sexual themes, there is a convenient back button you can press. 

For everyone else still here, all of the tags apply. The current tags don't reflect the absolute range of what requests I will write for, as there is bound to be requests for ships that likely haven't been written for before. I plan to add more in the future, but for now, this will do. 

I'm pretty comfortable with writing multiple/any pairings, but I want to draw a line of what sort of requests I will not accept under any circumstances. 

I will NOT write rape, pedophilia, incest, or pairings that force canon homosexual characters into heterosexual relationships (per example: Cal and Evangeline. Evangeline is only attracted to girls). If for some reason other than those listed I won't write for your request, I will inform you in the comments. 

Of course, like every writer out there, I have characters that I have better grasp on compared to other characters. But I won't shy away from writing any character's POV for the purposes of this collection. 

Feel free to leave reviews (that are not requests). Though keep in mind that I will delete reviews after seeing them (if they're somehow listed in this page) so that requests are not overtaken by reviews, as requests are my top priority. Completed requests are also deleted so that the comment section doesn't get too chaotic. You can view the fulfilled prompts at the top each chapter. Otherwise, feel free to review at each chapter. Please don't submit requests at the other chapters. Requests should only be commented in this chapter's comment section.

Feel free to request anonymously. I don't mind. I'll write on a basis of first come, first serve unless I receive a large amount of requests asking for a certain combination of ship and scenario. If you agree with a request already made, comment under the original, parent comment. This will easily organize things for me so I can write for every request at a timely pace.

Your requests should be formatted like this: 

Pairing(s)/Couple(s)/Relationship(s): (What ship should the one-shot be focused on? I can write polygamous relationships containing multiple partners/threesomes and the like).

Scenario/Setting: (Provide a basic plot set-up. Is it set in canon? In an alternative universe? First person point of view? Third person point of view? Anything else of note?)

Desired word-limit: (How long should the one-shot be? You can choose not to answer this if you have no preference).

Kink meme: (Request certain sexual acts to be performed or include certain kinks. Should one character be the top and the other the bottom? Any certain locations? Vanilla? Elements of BDSM? Toys or not? Positions? Etc).


	2. Small Cruelties | Iris x Maven (One-shot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ElizabethofOldStones requested a Iris x Maven one-shot that explored some missed opportunities with this villainous power couple. Canon-verse, set during the end of War Storm or so with slight canon divergence (I took liberties here). The Scarlet Guard loses and Maven and Iris are victorious. 
> 
> Word-count: 3,707

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for taking this long to start on requests. Granted, I’ve been busy these past several months with some new things, but I really don’t intend on taking this long for the others. And since we are all confined inside our homes (or you should be in theory) I’ll have more time than ever to get old and new requests done. This was a lot of fun to write. My first time writing something of this sort in first-person point of view (due to Victoria’s usage of point of view, it felt more fitting). Let me know if it worked or not so I can make some necessary changes for the next batch of requests. 
> 
> The first scene is actually set in canon, a scene in King’s Cage, but written in Iris’ point of view. I’ve thought this scene narrated by her would serve as a good introduction to some of the changes in her character and her dynamic with Maven. I did my best to not stray from her canon persona, but obviously some changes had to be made. The main of them being her attitudes towards being a queen, Norta, and her husband. Iris and Maven are a lot more understanding of each other (if you can call it that) in here than in canon, so that some semblance of romance was possible. 
> 
> I’ll stop rambling now.

__

_Iris_

 

 _Archeon sprawls before me_ , dark constellations glimmering for the queen herself, as if urging me to extinguish them with a mere brush of my hand. I am a princess born, a queen made. The title had sounded strange when my royal father uttered it in the pavilion that stretched miles in between the mine devastated Choke, as if the smoke and gunpowder could anoint me. And what a queen I made in the land of the dead, adorned with pearl and silk, unassuming fabric to conceal the honed warrior I have proven myself to be, again and again.

My father’s gaze, the shade of my own, had swept over the retinue of the young king, exposing his vulnerabilities with every gesture of his steady hand. His own houses had rebelled against his reign, propping the exiled Prince Tiberias in his stead. Every now and then, a sliver of the young king’s mask would recede at the mention of his older brother, a wound dug deep. His pragmatism reminded me of my mother at the time, of her quiet strength, her way with words. 

And with every word from the young king, my curiosity had piqued, well aware that he was weaving his web to ensnare our kingdom, to seduce us to come to his aid. He would appear nothing more than a well dressed pup if one only paid heed to the trappings he favored. My father and him had circled each other, gauging each other. Heat suffused every inch of the room, but the soothing balm of my father’s ability rised to meet it. Fire and water, opposite elements, ever so twined and connected. 

My father rarely conceded to anyone else but the will of my mother, a tidal wave in his own right. But my father yielded, joined their hands together in what must have been a memorable sight for the rest. My heart hammered in my ribcage, akin to a hummingbird. My fate was sealed that day, but the scene before me continued to unravel. I had been relegated to a spectator in my own life. I could only hope that Maven Calore would make the proceeding scenes entertaining. 

My father’s rage was an unfamiliar thing, but the intensity of the Calore king had not struck me by surprise. Heat destroyed every wavering thing in its path, fueled by an indomitable passion for what it held dear and close. It just so happened that his passion was tightly chained, leashed just as the curious newblood was. For his part, the young Calore did not make a spectacle at my father’s announcement. I knew that his queen to be was seated near, and so was her family, drowning in their fury at being dismissed so easily. But they knew better than to voice their complaints then, observing rigidly as the iron they wielded.

I remained tranquil as a still lake, not betraying the feelings that warred within me. My father exchanged words with the young king, words that I barely registered. I knew better than to trust their words then, the lies dripping off their tongues like honey. I perhaps had found too much enjoyment at sight of his bow, at the thought of a Calore king bowing to a Cygnet princess.

My eyes met him then, taking him in. Sculpted cheekbones, proud brows, hair the color of coal. He was strikingly pale, as he is now. Pale as the marble on the carved statues of the unnamed Gods, their face obscured, as if concealing a secret. What secret did Maven Calore conceal then? 

My motions were practiced as I faced the young king, offered him a coy inclination of my head, eyes affixed on him. His eyes were just as unrelenting as my own. A hunter recognizes a hunter, no matter the small differences that span between them. 

Maven murmured the betrothal vows of his strange kingdom, and I offered my hand as our abilities conjoined. Fire leapt at from his hands like artistry, so close to scorching me where I stood. His fire, his will, against mine. I am a competitive thing, and I relished the small tremor in his hand when I remained unmoved. The first secret shared between us. But I would not be so easily bewitched by blundering Calore kings, much less ones that would feast on my mother’s kingdom if given the opportune chance. 

Maven would prove himself as an equal, or he’d face the wrath of a Cygnet princess, a Cygnet queen. 

I am disturbed out of my recollections by the din of voices that occupy the Nortan air, most of the courtiers all assembled in one of the spacious receiving chambers. Maven is all too skilled with throwing revelries. The Nortans love their liquor and their festivities in the wake of such triumph. That much is evident with all the silver trays containing slender flutes of bubbling champagne. Ladies and lords dance to melodies that bear no familiarity to the fluid tones of home, their movements too tense, too practiced. 

My sister and I used to dance till dawn when she was younger, when Tiora was allowed to not fully immerse herself in her responsibilities as heir. My sister will be coronated soon, I suspect. And here I am, a queen of my own right, a queen to a kingdom that almost splintered because of the Scarlet Guard’s existence.

I honored this alliance in the memory of my father, of the treaty he had brought to fruition. 

Maven honored my father when he brought me the heads of Volo Samos and Salin Iral in a platter, ripe for the taking.

I only regret that Tiora could not avenge the death of our father, required to remain in the capital till her dying days. Loyalty is not my prerogative by any means, but we’d be foolish to allow our natural impulses to be used against us by the reds. For silvers to flourish and withstand rebellion, there were necessary sacrifices undertaken. 

My mother is a wise woman, and she is well versed on the importance of maintaining alliances. She is too keen to fall into the trap of divide and conquer. Unlike the Calores, what remains of our family remains fast and true. Our impulses do not overtake our senses. Our ambitions do not overwhelm our instinct for preservation above all else. We can bide for a time that is right. I trust my mother’s decisions, in her expertise. 

Just as mother had predicted, when the news of Volo’s death became widespread, a power vacuum followed. The houses allied with the Rift withdrew, unwilling to follow the untested leadership of Ptolemus Samos as the patriarch. 

When the Houses returned and pleaded for clemency, Maven granted them as such, though he punished them in return by forcing them to submit pockets of their lands to House Calore. The decisive move had restored the Silver Court to almost its former might. 

With a strengthened Norta, the Raiders of Montfort were equipped with weapons funded by Norta’s treasury. Montfort’s support withdrew eventually with the flood of attacks forged against them, choosing to stand alone as they always did before this conflict.

Prince Tiberias was killed during one of those early raids, and from the pieces I could collect, Maven had finally put use to the newbloods he had in his arsenal, inflicting a bloodbath in the rugged terrain of Montfort. Mare Barrow and her band of electricons were captured, alongside some key allies as the others retreated to Monfort to regroup, barricaded in. 

Piedmont intercepted shipments to Monfort, aided by our vessels. It was a standstill, but a standstill largely in our favor, the embers of rebellion quelled to manageable pockets. Though Maven still relentlessly pursued every covert Scarlet Guard operation with dogged focus, his advisors tethered his attention to strengthening relations with Piedmont ever since the death of one of their princes in the assasination attempt against him. 

The electricons faced a swift death at my orders. I’ve heard through snippets of gossip that Mare Barrow had spit on Maven on their last confrontation, and yet, he still mourned her in his own ways. Throwing revelries were not one of them. It was just a measure to placate the silvers who were more than content to return to their old world, to their old ways. 

I let myself watch as partners exchange once again, the song fading into a more somber one. The chandeliers cast beams of light onto the polished floors, reflecting the rays of the flaming Sentinel robes. My steps are quick as I seize the attention of the nearest Sentinel, questioning them of Maven’s whereabouts. Their reply is reluctant, evading my question. I persist until I draw out the answer. 

Of course, he’s stuck in _another_ meeting. 

I think Maven arranges them one after the other in some vain notion of revenge for Mare Barrow’s death. I dismiss the Sentinel with a motion of my fingers as I barge in, noting that everyone in attendance has only recently arrived considering the exchange of pleasantries. The Sentinels manning the front of the door knew better than to question my unexpected appearance, allowing me in with a curt dip of their masks.

I settle myself in the unoccupied seat next to Maven, who regards me in slight acknowledgment, fingers steepled together. “As you are all aware...” he starts, voice measured. I barely can pay attention to the following words, anger awakened in me. There are the chatterings of his advisors, like a hivemind of bees intent on making as much as clamor as possible. 

If Maven is so convinced that he can mock my contributions in this conflict by excluding me, I can return some of the favor. Underhanded way or not. The firm grip I have on the polished chrome of the table trails below, my palm pressed against the leather surface of Maven’s belt, then lower...until I’m quietly unfastening the zipper of his slacks.

I feel more than see Maven tense ever so subtly. The next inhale is sharper, his jaw working as the hindering fabric of his undergarment sinks lower thanks to my handiwork, revealing a smooth expanse of pale skin. He refuses to succumb to my control, maintaining a practiced expression as much as he can muster. 

I grasp the length of him in my hand as the pads of my fingers graze him excruciatingly slow, my hand gliding over the veins. The hitch in his breath is concealed as he reaches for a glass of cold water, silent for once as he gulps down ice. The steadiness of his hands are all ruined when I stroke him. I almost laugh in my vengeance, though I manage to suppress the urge.

Maven sets the glass down with finality, lashes flickering against the curve of his cheek as his tongue brushes against his lips. He almost appears as if he’s entertaining the thought of brushing his hand against mine, guiding me to the right pressure. Instead, his hips rock against my hand ever so slightly, seeking the friction. His half-hardness is warm and solid in my palm, suffusing a gentle heat. 

He strains slightly against the confines of his seat before his zipper is fastened again by one unsteady hand, rising to his feet in almost hesitant fashion. “Meeting adjourned. We will convene tomorrow morning to discuss further developments, but I have good faith in what was already established here today.”

The dismissal is swift and curt, chairs scraping against the carpeting as the lords and ladies exchange quiet, reluctant looks. I’m certain they hide their sneers. They comply regardless, they know better than to show signs of defiance for now. 

The door closes behind the last of them with an abrupt finality. Maven tilts his head at me, eyes accusatory as he scrunitizes me. I wonder what he sees. But most of all, I wonder if he’ll flinch if I step close, if he’ll waver. 

I approach Maven with methodical steps, steps that he mirrors. It’s a lethal dance of our own, a dance that I lead. “I’m sure you have a reason for why you barged in here besides embarrassing me in front of my own advisors.”

“Ours. Our advisors,” I correct, holding Maven’s gaze. He doesn’t dare even blink. “The advisors I won over. My support changed the tides of this war. I didn’t think you needed a reminder, but here we are.” 

Maven’s lips curl into what I assume is a smile, though it is far too sharp at the edges. “We have yet to win, Iris. As long as they breathe-”

“We will,” I assure him, my voice drowning out his. “We’ll make them pay in their blood. And then they will know they lost.” 

“But that’s not why you are here,” Maven murmurs knowingly, his gaze fixed on me. Slowly, his gaze drifts to my parted lips, to the shape of my mouth. My heart leaps in answer, a shiver making its way through me. It’s not from the cold, frigid air. The windows are firmly shuttered, and his heat radiates enough warmth for the both of us.

“I was furious with you,” I mutter and my voice rings true. Maven excels in falsehoods far more than me, lying would do me no good. “You refuse to see me most days. You brood and you pace, you mourn for her. Even though she intended to bring you down. It’s been seven months. I’m not sure what she did to bewitch you so-”

Maven laughs at that, each note rippling through the air. I think it’s the first genuine laughter I’ve heard from him. It’s pleasantly light. I furrow my brows, startled at his sudden reaction. “Is that jealousy I’m sensing, Iris?” It’s a rhetorical question. He doesn’t truly anticipate anyone caring for him, loving him. Wanting him. I shake my head now. “You know it isn’t. I just want you to come back to your senses. I want you to acknowledge your wife. You can at least bother to pretend you’re grateful for your allies.” He sighs, setting a hand to his temple to subdue an ache I can’t begin to fathom. 

“I’ve already come to my senses. I thought she was...like someone I knew once, someone who cared for me. But I realize now that she never did.” She. Barrow. His throat works, the admission softening his voice. Regret lurks in his words. An emotion I had thought would be impossible for him to conjure once. Shadows cross his face as he continues forward. 

“She always had eyes for my brother, even when I was her only companion in this place. My brother butchered people like her once without a thought. He always had these ideas about glory. But she was so blind to his faults, or perhaps she just didn’t mind. I don’t know which, but she fell for him. And I never could reach to her after that, no matter what I did.” 

The embittered words unravel as if they always had been at the precipice of a cliff, waiting to flood out. I’m at a loss for words. I wonder if she haunts Maven still, the way his mother does. He clears his throat sharply, as if scolding himself for letting me get a glimpse of him. He’s always so preoccupied with his internal shields. “You can’t just barge in and touch me like you want me, Iris. That’s an act of more cruelty than anything Mare could dream of.”

I’m not sure what compels me to action, his mention of her or the fact that I feel utterly cruel tonight. I reach for his jaw, claim his lips in an almost bruising kiss that’s demanding and hot. I indulge myself for once in my life. 

His mouth slants against me, reciprocating. 

He parts the seam of my lips with his tongue, delving deep. 

Something in me sang and thrilled, having known it was coming. I clutch Maven’s hair tightly, black tendrils grasped in my hands. We collide together, his body pressed against mine. 

I take a brief moment to collect my breath before seizing his jaw, sucking on the soft flesh just underneath it. Maven practically shivers, and I delight in it, trailing sharp, open-mouthed kisses and bites against the expanse of his neck, where his pulse raced. He brushes his hands against my waist, seemingly frustrated with the intricate clasps on the side of my dress. 

“Here?” I murmur against his collarbone. The thought of it doesn’t disturb me as much as it should. His cock stirs against me, against the fabric of my dress. “The room is sound-proofed,” Maven groans out in answer when I straddle him, my legs astride his torso. It’s a better alternative than his minimalist bedroom, with a bed that barely fits him, much less the both of us. “Unless you want to desecrate your place,” he muses, referring to the shrines I’ve elected to have present in my apartments. 

I roll my hips down in vengeance with sudden ferocity at Maven’s comment and he responds in kind, scratching his nails down the span of my hips. The slight pain that flares through me only serves to excite me, heat pooling in the apex of my thighs. I budge and shift against the constraint of my dress, as if it will help him relieve me out of it sooner.

I make a quick work of his garments till Maven is completely bare before me. I don’t spare a glance back at the heap. He exudes a gentle heat for now, though I know Calores hardly remain that way in the midst of passion and pleasure. I toss off his flamemaker bracelets, not fancying to be burned alive today. Finally, the dress pools against my legs like oil and I peel myself out of the restrictive thing, glad to be relieved of it. 

Maven’s gaze is devouring, like a hot, incandescent flame that seeks to consume me whole. He drinks in every line and generous curve before he’s getting rid of my sheer bralette. It’s abandoned to the side as the path of his eyes is followed by his hand, which occupy themselves with palming my breasts. He’s tweaking my left nipple as his mouth draws a faint line of kisses down my throat, provoking a soft moan from me. 

My breath wavers as Maven suckles on my right breast, his tongue warm and heady. I ground against him in response, the friction maddening when there are nearly no fabrics to bother me. “Fuck, Iris-” he murmurs, as if I’m testing him. Perhaps I am. His fingers push my underwear out of his way and off our sight, until I’m as exposed as him. 

My brows knit in focus at the intrusion of his fingers as they delve inside of me, finding me unbearably wet. My resulting moans are thready, brimming with need. I wound my arms against Maven’s shoulders as another finger enters me, arching against him without shame. His stare remains on me as he maps out the place that produces another stream of coaxed moans when he curls his fingers against that sensitive spot that whites out my vision. 

“Don’t you dare stop.” And Maven doesn’t. His gaze burns, intense and flickering. I clutch on to him tautly as his other hand caresses the slight protrusion of my hip bone, my face settled against his neck. A steady force of groans escape me, my mouth parted open as our foreheads connect together. 

He’s relentless, pressing there again and again until my vision swims with pleasure and I’m panting. His mouth grazes mine, his tongue flicking to taste my moans and swallow them down as my body seizes up. 

My hair brushes against Maven’s shoulders as I maneuver myself on him again, my legs somewhat unsteady because of the aftershocks of my lingering orgasm. It takes a few strokes till he’s fully hardened underneath me again. “Let yourself be ruled by me tonight,” I whisper to him, and he yields. It’s a thrilling thing, the power he allows me to wield over for him for tonight. He needs to be taken just as much as I want to take. 

I descend on him, sinking down in a smooth movement, inch by inch until he’s buried inside me to the hilt. Maven’s ensuing groan is guttural against my ear as he pitches upwards, towards my hips, meeting me with each hard thrust. His hands brush against the ink on my back, the whorls of waves. My chest heaves with each thrust and I’m sure he enjoys the sight of it, judging by the state of him. 

His hair is unruly now, my hand grasping it tightly. My nails press against his back, keeping pace as my thighs surge forward and strain from the effort. Maven’s eyes are hazy now, dark pupils blown wide. The pleasure that crawls inside me is melting everything to hot, molten lava. 

I work my mouth in search of words, but find nothing when Maven charges forward to brush his thumb against my clit, drawing circles. Pleasure rushes through me, a dam wanting to fracture. He murmurs my name, barely intelligible as the rhythm falters. Another stroke of my clit and I clench around him, cresting his pleasure.

I contract against Maven as I’m undone once again, the force of it a whirlwind. He spills after me, his release coating my thighs. I sigh in rapture, content to simply lay on top of him for now. I suppose I should worry about the state of the room if anyone barged in now. But I can’t make myself care. 

Maven cards a hand through my hair, eyes almost fond. His other hand scrapes against my abdominal muscles, admiring and absentmindedly. “I have to admit, I don’t think I minded subjecting myself to that punishment,” he murmurs, eyes bright. 

I tilt my head at him, directing a challenging look as my mouth curves into a self-satisfied smirk. “Want to test that out, Calore? You haven’t seen me at my cruelest yet.” 

Maven intertwines his fingers with mine, kissing each knuckle.

“I’ll take you on that, Cygnet.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a review. I appreciate each one. 
> 
> Bear in mind that requests should only be commented in the first chapter. 
> 
> Constructive criticism (as always) is especially welcomed. 
> 
> Hope at least some of you out there enjoyed this little one-shot.


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